


Hearteater

by Shirimikaze



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Blood and Gore, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Mutilation, Nightmares, Organized Crime, Possible medical inaccuracies, Supernatural Elements, happy ending? yay?, you don't need to be familiar with the tokyo ghoul series to read and understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 12:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirimikaze/pseuds/Shirimikaze
Summary: “A morally broken bastard with a hero complex. You sound like a fun guy.”Tokyo Ghoul AU in which a back-alley doctor finds solace in a killer and a ghoul finds empathy in a human.





	Hearteater

**Author's Note:**

> **A few details for people who haven't read the manga or watched the anime:**  
>  \- "doves" is a nickname for the ghoul investigators whose job is to seek out and exterminate ghouls  
> \- the CCG is the agency which deals with official anti-ghoul operations  
> \- aside from human flesh and blood, coffee is the only other thing ghouls can consume without issues  
> \- RC cells are a type of blood cells both humans and ghouls possess, but ghoul blood has them in much higher quantities, thus causing and strengthening their hunger for human flesh, as well as their special abilities

**** The entrance of the narrow alley is illuminated by a single crooked lamp post sprouting from the outer edge of the pavement. The irregularly timed flickers are akin to famous last words before the lightbulb ultimately gives out. Still, it stubbornly keeps on throwing bursts of light onto the gritty asphalt out of sheer obligation to guide anyone unfortunate enough to have business around these parts.

The spot itself is as inconspicuous as can be. All the issues festering in the center of the city keep the police from dispatching too many people to patrol around the notably calmer suburbs. There, insignificant streets are trapped between tall apartment buildings with chipped paint and rust slithering up their balcony railings. Inside the alley that converges with such a nondescript street, a small flight of stairs leads down to the slightly scratched up door on the basement level.

The single room on the other side isn’t spacious, yet the sparse furnishing creates an impression of width. A large cabinet is placed by one of the walls, the lower half consisting of several drawers, and glass doors revealing shelves upon shelves of tiny bottles on the top. Anaesthetics, disinfectants, pills - each is patiently sitting in its allotted spot, only the messy scrawl on the labels distinguishing the contents under every cap.

A gurney is placed in the middle of the room, directly beneath the strong fluorescent lights on the ceiling. A small table directly next to it has various surgical tools carefully sorted based on size and purpose. Sitting on the edge of the gurney with a piece of cloth in hand, Changbin is gently cleaning the instruments at his disposal before the next occasion to use them stumbles into his clinic. He takes his time with the task, as if scrubbing off the remnants of previous patients helps him part with the memory of them as well.

No matter how spotless the steel and how brilliantly its surface glimmers in the light, the nauseating smell of blood lingers.

Several rushed knocks make Changbin place the scalpel and rag back onto the small table before he stands up and hurries to the door. Routine prompts him up on tiptoe to look through the peephole first and foremost. He sees three men waiting outside, bulky frames dressed in black, hats pulled low to hide some of their features. One of them evidently carries pain in the wrinkles of his face, leaning onto the other two for support.

Changbin doesn’t recognise the men, but the small tattoo he sees on the wounded one’s wrist is familiar. From the way the guy has his arm draped over his comrade’s shoulder, a tiny raven in black ink can be seen perched on his skin.

A series of unpleasantly sharp metallic screeches bounce between the tiles as Changbin unlocks the latches and the deadbolt. He finally pulls the door open to quickly usher the men inside before possible witnesses roaming the streets make the process more complicated than it needs to be. The injured one is wordlessly laid down on the gurney while Changbin shuts the door again.

He knows them. He’s had business with the Raven Syndicate for quite some time now. It was never explicitly mentioned, but Changbin learned along the way that the gang are seasoned hitmen specialising in assassinations. He can understand the tales told by all the bruises, the blade wounds, and blood that did not belong to his patients clinging to their skin. Changbin assumes they must be pleased with his services, seeing as they seek him out time after time.

As per etiquette, the two who accompany the patient retreat to the side to not interfere and to observe. Doused in the light of the small clinic, the blood staining their clothes becomes evident, but any injuries they might have sustained don’t seem to hinder them much.

The same can’t be said for their associate. The closer Changbin comes to the injured, the harder the rancid smell of rot hits him. Various wounds stand out on first glance, but the one Changbin can’t tear his gaze away from is the grotesque stretches of black skin that span from the tips of the man’s fingers past the crook of his elbow. 

At first Changbin thinks his eyes are tricking him, but the longer he gapes, the quicker his disbelief withers. Slowly, the blight crawls even higher up, gradually devouring all healthy tissue on its way. The entire arm is necrotizing at alarming speed, and it’s unlike anything Changbin has ever dealt with in his life. The chill that runs down his spine makes him dig his fingers into the hems of his sleeves to keep himself grounded.

Precariously throwing a look at the two other men waiting in the room, Changbin decides to take the risk of breaking the routine. "I need you to tell me how he got this wound."

Alongside the stench of rot, a nearly palpable tension fills the air.

"Unnecessary questions weren’t part of the deal," the one who seems to be in command answers, a hostile bite to his words.

Changbin purses his lips in unease, not the slightest bit in the mood for confrontation given the circumstances. "If you want me to do my job properly, I need to know what I'm dealing with."

"And how do we know you're not trying to rat us out?" is the reply he receives, no less aggressive.

"You have your illegal business, I have mine,” Changbin presses through gritted teeth. His gaze keeps flitting between the whimpering patient and the two men on standby. It’s as if time is taunting him with how quickly it seems to be passing him by. “I'm already risking enough by casually letting you in here. Consider it fair trade."

The unadulterated annoyance mixed into his words makes the two men drop their guard and share a look of contemplation. They reach a consensus soon enough and face Changbin once more.

"We fought ghouls," the other one speaks up.

The word is not one Changbin stumbles upon too often. "Ghouls?" It feels heavy on his tongue, almost bitter from all the connotations attached to it.

The gang member nods. "The CCG offers sweet rewards for certain ghouls' heads. Much quicker profit than just about anything else you could deal with in the underground."

Changbin stares at the necrotizing limb again. "So this is..." he trails off, mentally connecting the dots. His fingers twitch, yet a part of him is still wary of touching the blackened skin.

"Some kind of fucked up venom. There's this one bastard they call Scorpion. You can imagine where he gets the name from. Such a pain in the ass. Might've even slaughtered us all if we hadn't killed his friends first and made him retreat to take care of them.” The assumed leader lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fucking ghouls, man... Why do they even bother caring for each other when they just know there’s no saving any of them?"

The spiel only partially registers in a shallow part of Changbin’s mind. Pure intuition rushes him in the direction of the cabinet in the corner of the room and compels him to fling the glass doors open. He returns to the patient’s side with a bottle of anaesthetic in hand and injects a hefty dose with practised speed.

Once he drops the syringe back onto the small table of tools, he hurries to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room, where he frantically rummages through a few. The clamor of more tools follows his every jittery movement until he finds what he’s looking for.

The clatter abruptly ceases. “One last question,” Changbin starts speaking while still facing the open drawer, a sudden eerie calmness to his tone. “Do you need him functional…” he pauses to look back at the two men over his shoulder, determination as cold as his voice resting in his eyes, “Or alive?”

He sees hesitation flicker over the gang members’ faces once the question sinks in, but one brief look at their comrade passed out on the gurney convinces them quickly. “Just do whatever it takes,” they reply, and that’s all Changbin needs to hear.

By now, the necrosis has reached the middle of the upper arm. Changbin positions the amputation saw a few centimeters above the edge of the dead skin and acts without delay. The sound of bone snapping under the pressure of metal makes the earlier sobs of pain seem preferable.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


From the last turn of the key before Changbin has properly locked up the back alley clinic, every motion of his is on pure autopilot. Streets and buildings blur together in his peripheral vision on his way home. His thoughts are in another place, at another time, and even after the dear comfort of the bed in his apartment envelops him, his mind doesn’t want to let him return to the present.

Changbin knows as much about ghouls as the average person. The thought of living life side by side with monsters in a human shape is as familiar as the blue of the clear midday sky. What makes them horrifying is exactly the fact that what sets them apart from the majority isn’t something that can be noticed at first glance. Their maddening hunger, which can only be satisfied by human flesh, is the foundation of many horror stories, real and fictional alike.

Along the course of time, nature has made sure that like all predators, ghouls also develop traits unique to them to aid their hunting. It is said that they can manifest a sort of extra limb at will - a kagune, they call it, and it’s blamed for why ghouls are so difficult to deal with. Few have witnessed it in person, but by word of mouth, Changbin has heard that each ghoul’s kagune is different.

Basic precautions have been drilled into the populace’s minds in the hopes of reducing accidents; to be wary of people with suspicious eating habits, sleep patterns, and unawareness of social etiquette is advice as old as time. But as society learns, ghouls do too. They keep finding new ways of integrating themselves and hiding their traces. It’s a chase with no end in sight.

Changbin can only wordlessly stare at his bedroom ceiling for so long before the urge to do something pushes him off the mattress.

Times won’t suddenly become more simple, so he immerses himself in what he does best to adapt - research. He skims through all sorts of articles, niche forums, conspiracy blogs, latching onto every crumb of remotely credible information. The first rays of dawn that crawl into his apartment through the thin fabric of the curtains find him still on his laptop, where he remains for a while longer until exhaustion gently closes his eyes and gives his thoughts the peace they need.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


On the surface, nothing noteworthy changes in Changbin’s work process. The variety in people characteristic of the job is but a given by now. From muggers, arsonists, drug dealers, to smugglers, robbers, murderers, all sorts of people desperate enough to find him pass through his care in the hours when city life seems to lapse into a convenient lull.

But gradually, he takes notice. It’s not only the Raven Syndicate who are going after ghouls. The rewards for proven kills seem to have piqued the interest of gangs and mobs alike, and the results of any shift in the underground sooner or later inevitably end up on the gurney in Changbin’s clinic.  His head already stuffed with the theory of it, he eventually ends up with plenty of visual aids pertaining to how lethal crossing paths with a ghoul can be.

The clinic is a bit less spacious as of recently. It had been no issue pulling some strings and acquiring new appliances and tools to place in the room, specifically the kind meant for experimentation.

Changbin doesn’t dispose of that severed necrosed arm. He devotes an oddly significant chunk of his spare time to analysing it, albeit not entirely certain what he even wants to search for. Alongside traces of what was correctly assumed to be venom, he also manages to extract barely-salvaged bits of other bodily fluids that might have a story to tell.

His humble collection of ghoul DNA samples slowly grows after each afflicted patient, as does his interest in the specifics of ghoul physiology. Their sturdiness and regeneration abilities are unlike anything documented by science thus far. The possibilities make his head spin, and dusty ambition rears its head once more. Hours poured into research become ingrained in his schedule.

Knowledge is power and Changbin is just as greedy as anyone with a heart.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


It’s a night no different from any other. Time gets lost at the bottom of one of the many bottles of medication. Five people arrive in the clinic after midnight with non-fatal injuries. Changbin has gotten enough practise on ghoul-inflicted wounds to recognise them without asking and treat them without his earlier bouts of hesitation. While he works through some minor stitches on the forearm of the last of the clients, a tiny raven of ink stares at him, as if scrutinizing his work.

Nothing in the monotony of the workload could have prepared him for the sudden frighteningly loud bang on the door. Multiple pairs of eyes immediately shift to the source of the noise in distress, and sheer instinct makes the gang members reach for the weapons in their possession. The latches and locks on the door snap like twigs as the door is violently flung open in the blink of an eye.

A figure shrouded in a long black coat stands in the doorway of the clinic. Only disheveled locks of hair and a pair of dark eyes are left to be seen by the world, the rest of the face covered by a mask. A young man, as can be guessed by the few visible features. 

What can only be described as a tail sprouts from his lower back, extending and moving as if sentient. The curves and ridges along the length of the appendage give it the distinct shape of a scorpion tail.

He is everything that has been on Changbin’s mind for the past days, every bit of fiction and fact come to life.

Before the cacophony of grating creaks coming from the door hinges even halts, garbled noises of agony are ripped out of the two gang members standing closest to the entrance. The ghoul has grabbed one of the outlaws by the head, pressing his thumbs into the man’s eyes until blood gushes from the sockets in steady streams. The skull becomes nothing more than a mangled shell after a sequence of sickening cracks. Simultaneously, his kagune has pierced the second man straight through the chest, leaving him with no strength to even scream. Broken bones sprout from the gaping wounds once the two bodies hit the floor.

The Raven with the unfinished stitchwork springs off the gurney to charge at the ghoul with an unsheathed dagger and raw rage. The ghoul lifts an arm to block the incoming attack, and the blade pierces through his forearm as easily as if it were slicing through human flesh.

Quinque steel. The only known material that can penetrate a ghoul's skin. The exact kind ghoul investigators use.

With the gang member's hands steadily gripping the dagger, he has no chance of evading the kagune that shoots itself at his shoulder and rips his dominant arm off in one swift motion. The man falls to his knees with a shrill scream, curling in on himself in pain.

The remaining two Ravens falter in their steps, primal fear slithering beneath their skin, yet they still raise their weapons and strike. They attempt to corner the injured ghoul by simultaneously attacking with similar close-range blades, but their motions are clumsy with fright and it’s easy for their target to dodge.

The ghoul pulls out the dagger that was driven into his forearm with an unpleasant squelch and a short-lived hiss of pain, only to stab the man standing closest to him in the heart with it. He doesn't even wait for the body to drop before grabbing the last standing enemy by the neck, squeezing and twisting until the trachea is crushed beyond salvation and the gagged pleas for mercy turn into an eerie silence. The corpse hits the floor with a grim thump once the ghoul abruptly releases his hold on it.

The fluorescent lighting of the clinic gives the splashes of blood on the white tile a sickening nuance.

Calmly, the ghoul leans down to grab the gang member with the torn off arm and lift him up. The man is still alive, albeit severely injured, but he has passed out, likely from a mix of pain and pure shock. The ghoul clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Changbin stands transfixed to his spot next to the gurney. He watched everything unfold, numb and unblinking, yet not a single moment of it manages to sink in, as if it is a mere sleep paralysis illusion that is not in the same plane as reality. It feels like a cruel joke with no punchline: Changbin could fight for hours and days to save a life and still face bitter failure, yet all it took was a handful of seconds to silence so many beating hearts. It’s nothing less than an out-of-body experience.

It’s only when the ghoul looks him dead in the eye that Changbin begins comprehending just how real everything is.

“You’re the one who’s been helping out all these bastards coming after me?” the ghoul asks, tone deepened by barely concealed disdain.

In a fleeting moment, the light in the room illuminates the ghoul’s eyes and Changbin notices the irises are the same vivid red as the scorpion tail kagune, swimming amidst scleras of pitch black. Despite the simple design, the details of the leather mask that covers the entire lower part of his face show a touch of meticulous craftsmanship.

Changbin would be a fool not to be afraid. The way his fingers curl into a fist and his nails dig into the skin of his palm are beyond his conscious control. But he’d be even more of a fool to let fear get the better of him.

“I do what I get paid to do,” he replies, looking straight into those eyes of furious red, and feels relieved by the steadiness of his own voice.

The ghoul approaches Changbin with slow, deliberate steps, demanding undivided attention with every motion of his. He drags along the mangled body of the gang member with his uninjured arm as he walks; it’s spine-chilling how he seemingly exerts no effort while doing so.

“A bunch of self-assured criminals with stolen weapons have been coming for my kind, as if we didn’t have enough issues with the doves alone. They slaughtered my friends like cattle,” he spits out, anger weighing on each cadence. He tilts his head to emphasise his sneer. “You think I’m going to get charmed by your work ethic after everything I’ve been through?”

Changbin can only quietly bear the sting of every word aimed at him. He’s certain he won’t be able to forget them, alongside everything they imply, even if he tries to.

The ghoul shifts his gaze to the unconscious man in his grasp, lifting the body up a bit to direct Changbin’s focus in that direction as well. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you? Can you make this one wake up somehow?” he asks, voice free of the earlier malice, settled into mild annoyance instead. “I need to have a pleasant little chat with him about where to find the rest of his shitty gang.”

Changbin’s eyes follow the trickles of blood pattering onto the floor. “I’m going to need to stop the bleeding if I have to make sure he can even open his eyes again.”

“Whatever.” The ghoul nonchalantly tosses the body on the gurney. “Couldn’t care less as long as he stays alive.”

Changbin relies on the familiarity of work to help him calm down. No circumstances can make him lose the practised ease with which he treads through flesh and blood. The sharp smell of antiseptic keeps his thoughts coherent.

At first, the ghoul stares at Changbin, taking note of his every move and searching for signs of possible resistance. Eventually, the doctor’s quiet immersion in the procedures manage to bore the ghoul to the point of making his attention wander around the rest of the clinic. He decides to kill time by approaching the many shelves of medication at the end of the room, peering at the odd names scribbled on the labels. Boredom gradually morphs into curiosity as fingers trail along the corners of one of the drawers and open freely, interest shifting to the peculiar shapes and edges of the various instruments inside. The fresh blood on his hands stains everything he touches.

“Of all the things you could’ve done with this talent of yours, you chose to help out forsaken gutter rats,” the ghoul remarks, while taking in how neatly every tool lies where it belongs. The words are far calmer, tired almost.

“You’ll be pleasantly surprised to hear not every outlaw is an unsalvageable asshole,” Changbin replies without looking up from the surgical needle he has busied himself with. “Some are simply victims of circumstance. I feel like that’s something you can relate to.”

Changbin hears a huff of dry amusement clash with the eerie atmosphere in the room. “So you’re trying to tell me you’re doing it all out of the kindness of your heart?” the ghoul asks, and the cynicism of his words makes it easy imagine he likely has an eyebrow raised to match his tone.

“We both know the answer to that,” Changbin admits. “No use being humble. I would’ve been one of many if I had tried to build a career the normal way. Here, though? I’m every reckless bastard’s wish come true. You don’t really get to see how much value gratitude can have until you receive it from a desperate man.”

The ghoul moves onto the next cabinet, one of the newer additions to the furniture, still pulled along by curiosity. He picks up one of the more morbid-looking tools he finds in the top drawer to fiddle with while he muses on the reply. “A morally broken bastard with a hero complex,” is the verdict he gives. From this vantage point, Changbin can’t see the way a corner of the ghoul’s lips subtly quirks up. “You sound like a fun guy.”

The ghoul carries on with the exploration, vaguely invested in all the instruments he hasn’t even considered the existence of and can’t assume the purpose of. He wipes most of the blood on his hand off on the fabric of his coat before reaching for what seems to be a small scalpel. It’s tiny enough to easily be deemed harmless to someone like him. As he fiddles with it, fingers grazing its edge, his eyes widen in shock when the flimsy blade manages to make a miniscule cut on his skin and draw a droplet of blood.

With his attention dedicated to suture, Changbin misses the look of bewilderment the ghoul throws him. After a short silence, where the only sound in the room comes from the scissors snapping off excess thread, Changbin asks, “Don’t you have medics on the ghoul side?”

The ghoul sets down the scalpel back where he took it from and picks up a slightly bigger one from the same drawer. “Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting one yet. Would’ve made life a hell lot easier.” 

“Does your kind not take to help too well, or has simply nobody tried to yet?”

“You sound awfully interested.” The ghoul evades the question with an accusatory edge to his words.

Several of the tools he has picked up thus far manage to pierce his skin. There is an array of instruments not created for use on humans at all. Pangs of unease make his already sharp senses hyperaware of his surroundings.

“You are pretty interesting, though,” Changbin calmly carries on, a sharp contrast to the ghoul’s wariness. “Your regeneration, your blood, everything. If all of those differences can be studied and used somehow, nothing we know might ever be the same again.”

Changbin’s words dissolve in his mouth when he feels the cold sting of metal lightly pressing on his throat.

“My kind are not lab rats for you to play with, bastard,” the ghoul snarls. Changbin didn’t even sense the ghoul coming up behind his back. The scalpel raised near his jugular doesn’t allow him to move, so all he can do is try to subdue his quickened pulse and soak in the fury poured over him in the form of a raspy voice. “If you’re trying to use ghoul abilities for your benefit, tell me one reason not to kill you immediately.”

The skin of Changbin’s throat presses into the edge of the blade ever so lightly as he speaks. “I can help you too, if only you’d let me.”

The voice gets closer, a taunting cold whisper grazing Changbin's ear. “And how do you suppose you can do that?”

“Take a moment to consider this and be honest with me.” With closed eyes, Changbin calmly asks, “Would your life be easier if you were more human?”

A few seconds of torturous silence pass until the faint kiss of steel is taken away. Changbin lets out a deep exhale of relief. He feels a thin trickle of blood slowly make its way down his neck from where the scalpel was mere moments ago.

“Are you done with that guy yet?” the ghoul asks. The way anger can leave his tone just as easily as it can possess it is difficult to get used to.

Changbin looks down at the patient lying on the gurney and collects his thoughts. “Yeah,” he utters after assessing his work, setting aside the stained pieces of gauze he has been clutching the whole time. “He should wake up soon, so you can take him.”

The ghoul picks up the unconscious man and tosses the body over his shoulder with fearsome ease before heading to the exit. Before walking out into the night, the ghoul throws one last scrutinising look back at Changbin. He seems as if he’s keeping back words that are trying to spill past his lips, but ultimately, he leaves without saying anything more.

Changbin is left alone in the company of death and decay, all bathed in the unflattering shade of artificial light. Only then does he realise that his hands have actually begun shaking. In his peripheral vision, he sees the corpse of the gang member that got pierced through the chest with the kagune, now almost entirely consumed by a familiar dark scourge running up the skin, necrosed far beyond the point of being recognisable.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


A portion of the clientele is apprehensive about Changbin’s sudden refusal to let a single soul inside his clinic for the next few days. Most, however, take it in stride and don’t meddle, considering the turbulent culture of the underground. The secret of what happened on that night is purged alongside the blood scrubbed off the tiled walls, gone without a trace like the victims.

The hours of this hiatus not spent in the clinic are lost inside the sturdy confines of Changbin’s mind. Forgiving and forgetting is a skillset he has been proud to have of all this time, but thoughts are fickle, and he begins to wonder whether his convictions haven’t led him to a dead end. He contemplates whether the Changbin from years ago would hate his present self, but it’s not a notion he can linger long on before the doubts start to physically hurt.

While at home, he tries his best to throttle the silence with music, the noise of the TV, the wheezes of the boiling coffee pot, because no amount of distance or time manage to make the Scorpion’s voice ring any less clear in his ears. The sneers cling to Changbin like a shadow.

The cut on his neck heals without leaving a scar, yet, occasionally, his fingers still tentatively reach up to brush against the patch of skin where the scalpel’s blade once was.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Changbin hears the muffled patter of rain outside. He checks whether everything is left in its appropriate place one last time before heading out of the clinic. Raindrops find rest on his hair and clothes as he locks the place up for the day.

He opens an umbrella while walking up the few stairs leading to the ground level. The uneventful work day allows him to leave shortly after 1AM. He knows how rare it is to see stars hanging on the night sky from within the city, yet, every night on his way home, he still looks up to search out of habit.

When Changbin lowers his gaze back to what's in front of him, there, leaning on the brick wall of the alleyway, barely doused in the light of a flickering street lamp, he sees a person in a mask.

Instead of cold eyes of black and red, calm brown irises stare back at Changbin, and he understands there's nothing to fear at the moment. Anticipation thrums beneath his skin as he approaches the ghoul. There’s a certain thrill in the realisation that the Scorpion has been waiting for him.

The proximity between them shortens until they're no more than a foot apart. Changbin's gaze briefly trails down to the bloodstains on the ghoul's coat, soaked in rain. “You killed them all, didn't you?” he asks, only loud enough to be heard over the erratic patter of droplets, no scorn or judgement to taint the words.

The ghoul only looks away without sparing a word. The answer is clear. Seconds stretched thin let the staccato of raindrops fill the space between them.

Changbin tips his umbrella forward so that it may keep both of them safe. “What's your name?”

The ghoul looks back at him again. If it wasn't for all that he has witnessed, Changbin would find it hard to believe that the wide brown eyes peering at him in contemplation are also capable of being utterly merciless. Then, the ghoul raises his hands and slowly takes off his mask.

Changbin can't help the way his lips slightly part in surprise. Damp locks of dark hair frame a round face with soft features, each curve gentle and pretty. The contrast between his appearance and the smell of blood on him is almost cruel.

There’s a brief pause before the reply comes, lips subtly pressed together in what is likely hesitation. In a bout of irony, Changbin comes to understand that the ghoul is actually the one feeling fear.

“Jisung.”

It’s quiet, but firm. Trusting.

There, leaning on the brick wall of the alleyway, barely doused in the light of a flickering street lamp, Changbin sees a guy with nothing left to lose.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


“You didn’t tell me everything would be this fancy,” Jisung speaks up while his fingers gently sink into one of the decorative pillows on the large living room couch.

“Feeling out of place?” he hears Changbin’s voice come from another room in reply.

Changbin left Jisung to wander around the apartment. A curious gaze trails along the long bookshelves in the living room, swallowing all the words prettily perched on the spines of the books. Eyes flit from the pretty paintings hung on the walls to the richly furnished open kitchen in the other end. The sizeable window overlooks all the lights of the night city dancing far down below.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jisung retorts quietly, only for himself to hear.

Even with his back turned to the doorway, Jisung can feel Changbin approaching. Jisung sharply turns when he senses something getting thrown at him and catches it with swiftness above human capabilities.

“I ran a bath for you,” Changbin states, and Jisung sees he has been tossed a set of clothes. “You can wear those until I wash the bloodstains on yours off.”

For a few calm moments, Jisung doesn't move. He merely looks at Changbin, trying to scrape together the appropriate words.

“You-”

“My name is Changbin.”

“Changbin,” Jisung says for the first time, tentative almost, and it doesn't feel uncomfortable on his tongue. “You do know there's a death penalty for anyone hiding or helping ghouls, right?”

“I've managed to hide an illegal business for years. I think I can hide a ghoul,” Changbin replies light and easy, as if it's the simplest notion in the world. The edges of his lips are even faintly quirked up, instantly rendering Jisung’s concern pointless. “I left you a blanket on the couch. We can talk after we get some sleep.”

Before any more doubts can escape Jisung’s mouth, Changbin turns around to walk back into his room. “Make yourself at home,” are the last words Jisung hears for the night, followed by the sound of a door closing.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Shortly after Changbin wakes up, he's greeted by the view of Jisung curled up by the large window in the living room, immersed in watching life go on from high above. The way one of Changbin's loose hoodies engulfs his frame makes him look almost harmless.

“Slept well?” Changbin asks.

“Relatively,” Jisung replies without peeling his gaze away from the view outside.

Jisung hears Changbin carry on ahead to the kitchen. Amidst his daze, he notices the smell of coffee gradually becoming stronger with each passing minute. It’s not long before he gets a warm mug shoved into his hands.

It’s then that Jisung’s attention returns inside the room. He watches Changbin calmly sit cross-legged on the couch with a cup of his own. Changbin seems undisturbed by the gaze trying to unravel him while he quietly sips on his coffee. The way steam languidly rises above the rim of the mug makes it seem like time has slowed down.

Jisung breaks the silence after a few seconds get lost to the slow domestic calm. “Has anyone ever told you that you're one weird son of a bitch?”

“This conversation is off to a lovely start,” Changbin states dryly, shifting so that he can face Jisung properly.

Jisung throws Changbin another pointed look before continuing. “I've dealt with many humans, far more than enough for me to get sick of your kind, and not a single one so far has seen me as anything other than a monster. But,” Jisung pauses for emphasis, “here you are.” A vague hand motion aimed in Changbin’s general direction illustrates the bewilderment rubbed into each syllable. “I still can’t decide if you’re too reckless for your own good or just absolutely out of your mind.”

“I’ve dealt with many humans too. And a lot of them are more worthy of being called monsters than you,” Changbin says while looking Jisung straight in the eyes, every bit as confident as his words promise. “You’re not the first to threaten to kill me, and I don’t expect you to be the last either. Whether I end up screwed by you or by one of my own, the outcome will be the same, so why should I fear you more?”

It’s not a question Jisung can find a reasonable answer to. It’s not a question he believed he’d ever get asked. He tucks the words away into a corner of his mind which he’s sure he’ll revisit. “I’ve seen ghoul investigators with less courage than this,” he tells Changbin instead. “You sure got balls for someone so tiny.”

“You sure got some nerve for someone only an inch taller than me.”

The hint of annoyance in Changbin’s voice makes a small smirk grow on Jisung’s lips. He leans back against the window again and finally takes a sip from the mug he’s been given. For the first time since stepping foot in the apartment, he feels at ease.

There’s another peaceful lilt in conversation during which both of them simply drink their coffee and listen to the buzz of their respective thoughts.

“About what you asked me when we first met,” Jisung trails off. His grip on his mug involuntarily tightens. He throws one half-lidded glance back outside while mulling the memory over. “How?”

“I don't know yet,” Changbin admits, plain and simple. “But I'll be damned if I don't try to find a way. More research and time are all I need.”

“If you manage, I’ll get to live more calmly,” Jisung notes with a small nod. He then look right back at Changbin, and with a tilt of his head he asks, “What will you get out of it?”

“I get to make history,” Changbin boldly proclaims with a glint in his eye that promises grandeur. “I'm willing to bet the CCG only ever researched ghoul anatomy to find ways to kill you, but that's not very ambitious at all, is it? Think of the possibilities.” The certainty in his tone is dangerously immersive. “If there's a way to cross your genes with a human's, then it might even be possible to reduce the physical difference between humans and ghouls to the point where there would be no need to wipe out one or the other for there to be peace.”

Jisung takes a long swig of coffee to let everything he heard sink in. “You really are out of your mind.”

The accusation is met with a small smile. “And that’s exactly why you came to me for help.”

A humourless chuckle leaves Jisung. Fingers trail along the rim of his mug as he speaks up, “I’m gonna go ahead and assume that my role in this grand plan is to be your obedient test subject?”

“A crude way of putting it, but yes,” Changbin shrugs. “I’m in no position to force you, but it needs to be done if I'm going to look for a way to help you. It’s your choice whether you decide to trust me or not.”

“Not like I can simply leave after you’ve seen my face and know my name,” Jisung drearily points out.

“You can just eat me and be done with it,” Changbin challenges. “But I’m the best chance you’ve got right now and you know it.”

Scepticism dies on Jisung’s tongue and leaves him nothing more to try and argue back with. Instead, he can taste a piece of the hope the world didn’t want him to have.

“I fucking hope you’re better at medicine than you are at making coffee.”

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


While Changbin is dealing with the latches and deadbolt on the door of the clinic, Jisung is already skipping inside. He spins on his heels, eyes thoroughly scanning the room. “Well, this place looks cleaner than I remember it,” is his candid observation.

“No thanks to you,” Changbin grouches. With one last sharp turn of the key, he moves away to fetch a pair of gloves from one of the cabinets.

Jisung’s already plopped on the gurney, hands lightly gripping the edge, dangling his legs much like a child would. “I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.”

Changbin can only roll his eyes with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. He returns to Jisung’s side with what looks to be a small knife in hand. “I need a piece of your kagune,” Changbin says, holding the blade up, laying his intentions bare for Jisung to see and consider.

Jisung wordlessly lifts the hem of his shirt up to his waist. A vivid crimson colour instantly pools in his irises and runs through the thin blood vessels surrounding them. In the lower part of Jisung’s back, the skin around his spine begins to rapidly quiver until it breaks and a thick appendage sprouts out from the spot not a second too late. It continues growing until the natural bends and arches along its length give it the familiar shape of a scorpion tail.

Jisung stretches out his kagune so that it rests on Changbin’s lap. Changbin’s surprised to note that it feels much lighter than it looks. Perhaps it’s some form of unbridled awe that makes him touch it slowly, gently, as if it were fragile. When he lightly runs the tips of his fingers down its surface, he learns its texture is unexpectedly soft too.

“Your venom is basically a burst of concentrated RC cells, isn’t it?”

“Someone has been doing their research properly,” Jisung answers with a smirk.

“The human body wasn’t made to handle so much of it at once and the sharp increase makes the cells around the poisoned area die at rapid speed,” Changbin elaborates while still prodding at the kagune, as if merely thinking out loud.

The smirk falters, shifts into something softer. “You almost make me feel normal when you reduce me to a simple explanation like that.”

Changbin finally meets Jisung’s gaze after the remark. The subtle crinkle of his eyes is akin to sympathy. “We’re all just bitter piles of organs in the end,” he muses. The jaded lilt of his voice is oddly comforting.

“Some more bitter than others,” Jisung nods.

“You’d know,” Changbin shoots back flatly and Jisung can only chuckle.

The task at hand comes back to the forefront of their minds after a short silence. Changbin brings up the knife to a random spot on the kagune and stops right before the edge can graze it. “Do you want anaesthetics for this?”

Jisung shakes his head in reply. “I won’t need any. You’ll see.”

Firmly, Changbin sinks the blade into the soft flesh. Jisung clenches his teeth, but doesn’t flinch or shudder. When Changbin cuts out a small bit of the kagune, the dent he leaves behind gradually begins regenerating at a moment’s notice. He watches in astonishment as the RC cells forming the kagune meld together until nothing is left of the wound. Jisung shoots him a complacent look with the clear message of  _ told you so _ .

Changbin pushes the kagune off his lap and Jisung retracts it until it’s entirely gone. Once Changbin stands up to take the piece of flesh to the rest of his assortment of samples, Jisung is back to aimlessly swinging his legs off the edge of a gurney out of boredom. “How do people even find this place?” the ghoul blurts out in passing after his gaze briefly glides by the door.

“Through mutual acquaintances for the most part. But if someone's in deep enough shit to need the help of someone like me, they find a way, trust me,” Changbin answers. Jisung can’t see what he’s doing while facing his back like this, but the sounds of drawers opening and closing speak for themselves.

“Sounds to me like you have a knack for attracting trouble.”

“You being a living example of that,” Changbin adds. He hears Jisung huff out a laugh in the background. “You’re not the first who has rampaged in my workplace either, I’ve moved locations three times due to similar… misunderstandings, let’s call them.”

“To the surprise of literally nobody,” Jisung dryly notes. “Your clientele consists of nasty bastards. You’re going to get your ass kicked eventually, and that’s probably going to be sooner rather than later.”

“Are you worried for me, perhaps?” Changbin teases. He can’t keep the note of smugness out of his voice.

“Fuck no!” Jisung denies, vehement enough to make Changbin chortle at him. “None of my business what you drag yourself into.”

Any other snarky denial Jisung would’ve gladly fired back with turns to shambles when Changbin faces him with a syringe in hand. A lone droplet of the clear liquid inside it trickles down the needle. The scent of the RC suppressor drug is faint, yet dreadfully amplified by the ghoul’s developed senses, enough to trigger a visceral reaction in him. Fingers curled into fists, jaw clenched, Jisung glares like a cornered feral animal.

The conditioned response etches a frown on Changbin’s expression. “The doves use this to weaken you, don’t they?” He approaches very slowly and only sits down again once he sees the tension ebb away from Jisung’s muscles. “I’m only going to inject a small amount into your arm to see how your body reacts to it,” Changbin softly explains.

Jisung maintains a sceptical glower for a short while longer before finally conceding and rolling a sleeve up, then extending his arm for Changbin to take.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Changbin says directly before piercing the skin of Jisung’s forearm.

Jisung’s focus is stuck on the way the liquid gradually disappears as Changbin pushes the syringe. The definite lack of pain makes him feel silly for his earlier outburst. Before long, the needle is out of his skin, leaving behind only a faint numb sensation in his forearm.

“Maybe it’s kindness that will get you killed one day,” Jisung ponders out loud, eyes still downcast.

“There are worse ways to go,” Changbin says in that same bittersweet tone before moving away to set the syringe aside.

“It’s absolutely beyond me how you’re so willing to risk it for absolute wretches when you know the kind of things they do for a living.”

“The same way I help you despite knowing what you’ve done.”

“Don’t even try to compare,” Jisung hisses through gritted teeth. “All of you decided to go against the law, but I was born to kill. I did the best I could with what I was given in this bitch of a world. I’ve never had the right of choice you humans do.”

“Are you sure?” Changbin objects with a sour tang to his words. He walks back to the gurney with another syringe in hand, empty this time. “A-rated ghoul Scorpion, distinct for the horrifying state in which he leaves behind corpses. Multiple victims per month for the past few years, and those are only the discovered and documented bodies. Casualties include CCG investigators.” Even after he sits by Jisung once more, he doesn’t break eye contact. The intensity with which they look at one another is reminiscent of a crackling fire. “You’re right, I’ve done my research. And it sounds to me like you enjoy killing more than you’d like to confess.”

To give a push of finality to his words, Changbin simply motions for Jisung to extend his arm again. Jisung keeps on scowling, but says nothing in protest. He allows himself a few more seconds of stubbornness before ultimately obliging Changbin with a pout and allowing him to stick another needle in his veins.

“You want to hear me admit that I’m a cunt, is that it?” Jisung mutters while watching Changbin draw blood.

“I’m the patron saint of cunts if that’s any consolation.” Changbin seems pretty satisfied with himself judging by the pleased way in which he eyes the almost full syringe. He gives Jisung a pat on the shoulder that’s more smug than comforting. “We’re equally as awful, just different brands of awful.”

Jisung merely lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Got lectured on morality by a bloody criminal,” he grumbles. “What a time to be alive.”

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Dead lights and silence welcome Changbin home.

Alongside the usual tasks, immersion in research has kept him in the clinic for the better parts of the past several days. Jisung remains alone in the apartment when there is no need for his presence, free to escape boredom in whatever way he likes, while Changbin uses the solitude to concentrate on work. He finds himself back home late at night, when the city and its woes are already in deep slumber.

Changbin closes the front door as slowly as he can to avoid making unnecessary noise. He’s convinced he’s doing quite a decent job at being quiet until he reaches the end of the foyer and hears faint groans from the living room.

“Jisung?” Changbin calls in a hushed tone, but no answer comes. He almost questions his hearing before more intelligible murmurs and the sound of fabric rustling suddenly stand out in the serenity of the night.

With soundless steps Changbin approaches the couch in the living room. He finds Jisung curled in on himself, asleep, yet not at rest. A grimace is etched onto his face, lips twisted in discomfort, and what seem like droplets of sweat trickle down his temples. He has managed to kick most of his blanket off in his sleep.

Jisung is having a nightmare, Changbin realises. Amidst the garbled sounds spilling past his lips, coherent words along the lines of _“no”_ , _“don’t leave me”_ , _“please”_ can occasionally be recognised. A searing kind of sadness stings Changbin in the chest once he begins wondering exactly how long has this been going on for before he got home.

Gently, Changbin reaches out to pull the blanket over Jisung again. Changbin freezes in his spot once Jisung stirs, afraid that he might’ve woken him up, but Jisung quickly stills and his breathing evens out once he settles into a comfortable position. Changbin watches the restlessness on his expression fade away and only moves away when he’s certain the pained mumbles are gone as well.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


“So?” Changbin asks expectantly. Lured in by pure anticipation, he leans forward, elbows propped on the kitchen counter, chin resting on his hands. “How is it?”

Two empty vials that now harbour only the scent left by by the RC suppressor drug stand on the counter between him and Jisung, a syringe lying not too far. Sitting across from Changbin, Jisung holds a simple ham sandwich. He’s glaring at it with open distaste, as if the measly piece of bread has managed to somehow personally offend him.

“Still tastes like shit,” is Jisung’s ruling. He keeps eyeing the bite mark he’s left on the sandwich with a frown to get the point across. “Though I have to admit it doesn’t make my insides feel like lurching themselves out of my body anymore.”

In contrast to the unenthusiastic degustation, Changbin seems excited by the answer. “At least we’re now sure the RC suppressors are tied to your tolerance for normal food,” he states with a sigh of relief. “The flavour is just something you get used to. Now I only need to find a way to replicate the effect for longer periods of time,” he explains without even looking at Jisung, as if simply thinking out loud. “The liquid itself is too expensive for how short it lasts. It’s inconvenient to rely on it alone.”

Changbin leans away from the counter, head tipped back in thought. His eyes are aimed in the general direction of the ceiling, looking, yet not seeing. He remains captive to his musings for a while longer like this, abandoning Jisung in a heavy silence.

“What?” Jisung eventually presses with a wisp of impatience, dragging Changbin back to the present.

“And what if I don’t?” Changbin mutters, barely audible. He lowers his gaze, pupils not clouded by thoughts anymore, looking right at Jisung. “Figure it all out, I mean.” Where his arms rest on the edge of the countertop, his fingers dig into the skin of his palms involuntarily. “What will happen if I never find a way to work with your genes? If I never find a way to change anything?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up so quickly,” Jisung asks, words perched right on the edge between sincerity and saccharine teasing, now his turn to place his chin in his hand with a glint of interest in his eye.

“I’m not giving up. It’s called considering possibilities.” Jisung can hear him restlessly tapping the heel of his foot against his stool. Changbin’s teeth sporadically graze his bottom lip in that same flurry of antsiness. “You’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

Surprise briefly tugs on Jisung’s features, eyes subtly widened once the question sinks in. He would’ve seemed perfectly innocuous had it not been for the self-assured curl of his lips once he finally speaks up. “Just because I won’t have a reason to stay doesn’t mean I’ll have a reason to leave.”

It’s a shot in the dark, Jisung knows. But the answer succeeds in making Changbin stop fidgeting. “That’s a bullshit answer,” Changbin complains, and the smile that finds its way on his face makes it clear there’s no spite intended.

“You asked a bullshit question,” Jisung rebuts. “No use overthinking the future. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now just do what you can, the rest will come.”

Jisung makes sure to hold Changbin’s gaze during each and every word, and distantly, Changbin is struck by the epiphany that perhaps this is Jisung’s way of offering comfort.

“Now, if that’s all,” Jisung hastily smothers the embers of the conversation, louder than necessary in a kitchen where it’s only the two of them, pushing his stool back so he may stand up. When he finds himself on his feet, however, not even a second passes before he stumbles and shaky hands instinctively grasp the edge of the counter for support.

Changbin springs up to rush to Jisung’s side, a hand warily hovering a few inches away from Jisung’s arm, prepared to catch him if need be. “Are you alright?”

“Fatigue,” Jisung mumbles. He nods at the empty vials and syringe left on the counter. “You did drug me up real good with that thing.”

Changbin beholds the way Jisung’s eyes tiredly droop, the way his breaths come out a tad too shallow once he pushes himself up to his feet again. “You haven’t been eating recently,” Changbin states, tone leaving no room for debate.

“Did my blood samples tell you that?” Jisung’s head has lolled to the side, as if too heavy for his neck to carry, yet he still has energy to bicker.

“Any fool with two eyes can see it,” Changbin shoots back, more sullen than snarky. He finally makes the distance between them crumble and pulls Jisung closer to himself, making sure Jisung can lean on him for balance. “Would corpses do?”

Up so close, the confusion brewing beneath Jisung’s eyelashes is so easy to trace. “Don’t tell me you’d…” Jisung trails off, letting his stunned expression finish the question.

“I’m no god, I can’t save everybody,” Changbin tells him firmly. “I’m perfectly capable of bringing you whatever’s left of patients I can do nothing for.”

Where their gazes don’t cross, an audible gulp crawls below the skin of Jisung’s throat. “Don’t,” he says, resolve compensating for the way the word lightly shakes. “At least leave me the dignity of fending for myself.”

With that, Jisung lets go of Changbin to slowly, but surely trudge to the couch and lie down. Changbin’s eyes follow Jisung every step of the way, lingering on him even after he’s motionless and quiet. He soon retreats to his room to let Jisung rest, suddenly feeling exhaustion seep into his bones as well.

Later that night, when Changbin hears the front door creaking open, he says nothing. He simply walks to the foyer, hand resting on the wall as he stands by the corner, and takes in the view of Jisung lingering by the door frame. Even in the dark, Changbin makes out the details of the mask clinging to Jisung's skin, of all the promises and threats etched along its surface. The last thing he discerns is clear brown eyes giving him a long, meaningful look before ultimately turning away and leaving him alone.

In the morning, Changbin wakes up to find Jisung curled up by the living room window with a healthier complexion and livelier glint in his pupils. Compared to the unadulterated relief that finds root in Changbin’s heart at that moment, the blood-soaked clothes left forgotten in the laundry hamper are nothing more than a triviality.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Some nights, while Changbin sits by the window of the empty apartment, he wonders. The morbid curiosity which keeps him constant company makes him question whether Jisung is the kind to give his victims a quick death, whether the sound of shrill screams makes adrenaline set the ghoul's senses ablaze, whether he ever hesitates before a kill. Be it out of fear of giving a voice to these thoughts or of the answers themselves, he never asks.

He tries to understand. It takes a while to reach the conclusion that depriving a ghoul of the thrill of the hunt would be similar to ripping their heart out. It’s in Jisung’s nature to revel in the sensation of bones cracking in his grasp and warm blood on his tongue. It keeps him alive just as much as the feasting itself does.

Occasionally, when Jisung returns to the apartment before dawn sprouts above the horizon, he's welcomed by the sight of Changbin dozed off on the window seat in the living room, and a pot of coffee patiently waiting on the kitchen counter. On those days, Changbin wakes up with a blanket enveloping him which he doesn't recall bringing along before falling asleep.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Sprawled out on the couch on his back, ankles propped on the backrest, Jisung flips through the pages of a novel with intensifying interest. He clearly registers the clicks of the front door lock when Changbin comes home, but pays them no mind. Only minutes later does he finally look away from the mountain of words when he hears muffled laughter.

Casually leaning on the wall by the living room door with his arms crossed, Changbin is trying hard to hide the grin crawling up his lips. “Didn't think you were the type to read romance,” he remarks, a giggle or two spilling out along the way.

“That's all you fucking have in here,” Jisung jabs back with a weak glare.

“My mother used to have tons more,” Changbin recalls when his eyes flit through the bookshelves by the walls. “I guess it rubbed off on me.”

Jisung doesn’t offer a reply to that. He turns his attention back to the page in front of him, but the letters don’t quite register in his mind at that moment. Instead, Changbin’s words nestle themselves in his thoughts and bring him the realisation that both of them are yet to share any details of their pasts with each other.

Languidly pushing himself off the wall, Changbin saunters towards the kitchen. He clears his throat and raises his voice to ask, “You want coffee?”

Jisung raises an eyebrow in question. “At midnight?”

“If you expected responsible decisions, you’re in the wrong house.”

Jisung simply sets the book aside and springs off the couch with the beginnings of a smile settling on his face. “Sit back, I'm making it this time.”

Changbin complies and settles on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. While watching Jisung rummage through the cupboards, he can’t help but note how much Jisung has gotten used to his new surroundings. He can’t bring himself to chastise Jisung for having stolen one more of his hoodies either. Completed by the soothing sound of boiling coffee, the situation emits an almost classically domestic aura. 

After pouring each of them a mug, Jisung hops to sit on the edge of the counter. His bangs have gotten noticeably longer since his first encounter with Changbin; the tousled locks of hair cast faint shadows over his face. Lower, below the reach of the undefined dark outlines, the artificial living room lighting trails down the gentle curve of his cheek, past the jut of his jawline, reaching the subtle ridge of his Adam’s apple and the unmarred expanses of skin on his neck. Changbin wonders whether it’s Jisung’s inborn regeneration that makes every part of him seem so smooth and pleasing to the eye, or if it was simply another touch of fate.

Changbin brings his mug up to his lips, disregarding the steam billowing out of it. Revelling in the dull burn down his throat after a slow sip, he lets out a pleased hum. “Alright, you’re definitely better at this than I am.”

He expected the compliment to make smugness tug at Jisung’s features, but instead, a small bittersweet smile is what he gets. “It's like how my parents used to make it,” Jisung notes, gaze dropping. “Took me a long damn while to get all the details down to pat since all I have is the memory of the flavour, but this should be it.”

While Jisung wistfully stares at the ripples on the surface of his coffee, Changbin lets the shift in mood sink in with his lips subtly parted in surprise. Seconds feel strung taut until he manages to gather his thoughts. “It’s awfully easy to forget that most of you actually lead pretty normal lives.”

“Definitely easier than actually keeping up the illusion,” Jisung replies, quiet disappointment nestled deep into his words. “My parents took turns hunting at night so they wouldn’t get caught and brought me back meat until I learned how to use my kagune. Taught me how to protect myself from humans the same way you were probably taught to beware of ghouls. I became such a good liar that even I started believing that life was fine the way it was.” When Jisung’s gaze falls to the floor, his bangs hide his eyes, but the sorrow rests on the curve of his lips. “Now that I think about it, they did everything they could to keep me out of danger.”

 

[ _ Colour already bleeds down the late afternoon sky by the time Jisung heads home from school _ .

_ A few blocks away from the street he lives on, he bids goodbye to the classmates that were walking with him with a sunny smile. Along the way, he passes by the small neighbourhood grocery store and waves at the auntie working behind the cash register through the slightly smudged window. When she greets him back with a fond smile, he muses that his heart will likely ache for the tiny district he’s grown up in once he graduates and moves out in a few months. _

_ The street lamps in front of the apartment building Jisung enters light up simultaneously to stave off the thickening early evening. He rushes up the steps, taking two at a time, driven purely by the desire to plop on his bed after a long day. At the final step leading to the floor his family’s apartment is on, a certain scent lingering in the hallway makes him instinctively slow his pace. The air that fills his lungs carries the traces of something oddly sweet, yet too intense for comfort. _

_ With each wary step Jisung takes towards the front door of his home, the apprehension coiling in the pit of his stomach rattles harsher. When he tugs on the handle only to find the door unlocked, his every nerve ending shrieks in alarm. He wills himself to push the door open after a few deep breaths. The hinges creak agitatingly slowly, as if mocking Jisung’s panic. What waits inside the apartment makes Jisung feel as if his ribs are caving in and crushing his insides. _

_ Parts of shattered furniture are violently strewn around the living room. Glass shards from smashed picture frames lie scattered on the floor. The grotesque slashes along the carpeting and wallpapers show signs of brutality. The place is utterly unrecognisable. The place isn’t home. _

_ Blood. It stains the broken pieces of furniture, it dries on the walls, it pools in shapeless puddles on the floor, it poisons the air Jisung inhales. The realisation comes crashing down with the weight of the world  _ _ – _ _ the stinging tang comes from the fact that it’s not human blood. _

_ Jisung turns around in a frenzy, running as far away as his legs can take him, and never looks back.] _

 

It’s after Jisung runs out of words and gets lost in his own silence that Changbin tells him, “When your life has been given to you with so much care, cherish it.”

“Almost ironic coming from a reckless guy like you.”

“Heartache just isn’t a good look on you.”

Jisung finally looks away from the floor and shifts his attention to Changbin instead. Relief pools inside Changbin when he sees the dejection ebb off Jisung’s expression. A spark plays in Jisung’s eyes when he insists, “Your turn, then. What’s your sob story?”

“Why do you think I have one?”

“You don’t keep any pictures or portraits around here.” Jisung slightly tilts his head in the direction of the living room to stress his point. “I thought you’d have a bit of love left in that shrivelled up heart of yours.”

Changbin takes his time to look at each shelf and cabinet. He realises the fact is something he hasn’t even considered up till now. The answer lies somewhere in the narrow empty spaces between the furniture dipped in dim lighting. “Haven’t seen my mother since I was a kid. Somehow it would feel weird to suddenly have her face around here. She’s probably abroad with a new husband at this point anyway.”

“What’s up with the old husband?”

“Rotting away in some jail cell for the next decade. What was it,” Changbin looks up while trying to recollect, slightly squinting in annoyance. “Drug trafficking, money laundering, forgery… And those are only the ones that got proven in court.”

 

_ [Ripping through the chilly spring air, gunshots sing their ghastly tune. _

_ While Changbin runs to the car, a bullet narrowly misses his head. The feeling of having escaped death by mere centimeters stupefies him and leaves him frozen in his spot, blankly staring at the three hitmen approaching with alarming speed. Three guns are bared with the single intent of taking him out. _

_ “Hurry your ass up and get inside, kid!” A man clad in a black suit, now wrinkled and dirty after the chase, shoves Changbin into the backseat of the car. After firing back a few shots of his own, the guy jumps inside next to Changbin as well, gaze frantically flitting to the back window to assess the situation through the tousled locks of curly hair falling in his face. “Hit the gas!” he shouts. _

_ Another man in black has been waiting in the driver’s seat during the shootout on the street. He heeds the demand and slams the gas pedal with such force that Changbin almost falls off his seat even despite his fingers digging into the leather upholstery out of sheer distress. A few bullets bury themselves in the rear bumper as the car drives off, and when one manages to hit the back window and scatter shards of glass along the backseat with a dreadfully loud noise, the pressure welling within Changbin finally boils over and he yells, “Who the fuck are you people?!” _

_ The driver shoots Changbin a pointed look through the rear-view mirror. There was something feline-like in the annoyed curve of his lips. “Listen, kid,” he starts, all the while sharply swerving away from every obstacle and vehicle against them on the road. “All you need to know is that we work for your father and that we just saved your ass.” Everything in the car shakes violently with each abrupt turn of the steering wheel. “My advice for you is to lie low until this blows over, unless you want to end up like your sister.” _

_ Changbin’s anger stills at that, his grip on the upholstery slackening. “My sister died in a car accident years ago.” _

_ “Is that what your father told you?” the guy next to Changbin chimes in. He swiftly raises his head to look through the broken back window again, shoots two bullets at their chasers for good measure, and ducks back down. “The fact of the matter is that business is rough and your dad’s competition would do just about anything to kick him out of the market. If you don’t want friends of yours to get dragged into this too, you better forget about med school for a while.” _

_ Police sirens blare in the near distance. “Ah, fuck,” the driver grouches. “Hold on, boys, this is about to get rough!” The tyres let out deafening screeches when the car cuts into traffic and dodges oncoming cars with alarming speed. The engine’s roar and all the shouting surrounding Changbin sound muffled to him, distant, like an ugly fever dream.] _

 

“Have you ever visited him in prison?”

“No,” Changbin shakes his head lightly. “I don’t think I can.”

After a short pause, Jisung asks more tentatively, “Do you hate him?”

The closest Changbin could possibly ever get to expressing the scalding mess of emotions boiling and rebelling inside him is the defeated, heavy look he gives Jisung as he admits, “I wish I did.”

The way Jisung answers with a sad little smile, melancholy nestling itself in his eyes as if he has taken half of Changbin’s grief for himself, as if he understands, is what really wrecks Changbin. “We can’t really run away from what we are, can we?” Jisung accepts, and oddly enough, the sentiment manages to quell the waves of anxiety.

“I’m just…” Changbin taps his fingers on the counter. Somehow, the motion does help in pushing all the words out. “Scared of myself sometimes. After so many patients and years gone by, I’m starting to see people as not much more than just bodies and blood. I’m afraid of losing whatever sanity I have left.”

The nervous tapping stops when Jisung places a hand atop Changbin’s. “That’s what I feared too before I met you.”

They don't need to say anything more when they look at each other. Their hands fit against one another perfectly when Changbin impulsively laces their fingers together and wordlessly gives Jisung a gentle little squeeze.

“I don't think I'll be falling asleep any time soon,” Changbin says, voice a tad tired in the late hours of the night, but he doesn't mind the circumstances in the least.

Even after Jisung reluctantly lets go, Changbin doesn't move his hand away. Jisung grabs the two empty coffee mugs and hops off the counter. “I'll make more.”

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Jisung’s nightmares don’t stop. 

Walls and doors feel paper-thin when his every whimper pierces through the late night silence like a thorn. In his room, Changbin buries his face deeper into his pillow in a weak effort at convincing himself that it'll all simmer away soon, but the sharper snivels make him flinch, as if he’s vicariously experiencing Jisung’s misery. The names Jisung chants with a pained voice amidst his haze are all but seared into Changbin’s mind after so many repetitions.

Eventually, Changbin pushes himself out of bed. Following the anguished noises leads him to the same sight of Jisung weakly trying to writhe away from his demons. It’s disillusioning to see one of the world's greatest terrors twisting and turning in his sleep, overwhelmed by fear himself.

Changbin pulls Jisung’s blanket up to his chin again and watches him gradually calm down. He carefully brushes Jisung's bangs out of his face and lets out a small, tired sigh of relief at the serenity that has found place on Jisung’s expression. When Changbin turns around to return to his room, however, he feels an iron grip abruptly wrap itself around his wrist.

The way Jisung looks up at him, heavy-lidded and pleading, keeps him rooted to his spot. “Don't…” Jisung stammers out, voice still raspy from lingering wisps of sleep, but it’s more than enough. The desperate press of his fingers onto Changbin’s skin says the rest.

Changbin leans forward to pick Jisung up and carry him, hold as careful as it is firm. While walking to the bedroom, he can feel Jisung huddle up to his chest. He gently settles Jisung onto the bed and only lets go of him for as long as it’s necessary to lie down by his side and bring the blanket over the both of them.

Changbin's arm quickly finds rest around Jisung's waist and pulls him closer. They easily lose themselves in one another in a loose tangle of limbs. When Jisung's face finds refuge in the crook of Changbin's neck, he can clearly feel every thrum of Changbin's pulse against his skin, but instead of making the ugly, primal side of him rear its head, the sensation submerges him in the velvety soft darkness of sleep.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Hours melt off another unremarkable night and Changbin is still awake, sitting in the living room with a book in hand when he hears the front door being pushed open. The familiar sound is immediately followed by a crash to the floor, loud and startling. Apprehension runs over Changbin’s skin like a jolt of electricity. The book’s pages crumple unpleasantly once it falls forgotten to the floor.

With quick steps Changbin approaches the foyer. He freezes in his spot abruptly once he rounds the corner and his eyes are drawn to the sight of Jisung collapsed on the floor, clothes torn and ruined and soaked in red, his mask fallen next to him. The only sounds in the apartment are Jisung’s tired, shallow gasps for air. Changbin’s gaze shifts to the growing puddle of blood slowly oozing towards him.

He feels like he’s suffocating, as if a serpent has wrapped itself around his neck.

Changbin all but runs to Jisung and helps him stand up, giving him a steady shoulder to lean on while dragging him towards the middle of the living room. The warmth of blood quickly seeps through the fabric of Changbin's shirt where Jisung is pressed up to him.

A loud groan of discomfort escapes Jisung as Changbin sits him on the couch. Laboured breaths tear themselves from his throat to stave away the lashes of pain that strike harder now that the adrenalin of combat has ebbed away entirely. Changbin kneels in front of Jisung and peels off the ghoul’s blood-soaked shirt as gently as he can given the circumstances, each of Jisung's sporadic hisses of pain prompting him to hurry.

“Jisung…” Changbin says, voice shaking from the crushing weight of worry pressing on each syllable. 

He can't turn his gaze away from the particularly harrowing gash on Jisung’s chest. Rich crimson trickles from the wound that stretches up Jisung's abdomen, crosses his sternum, reaches all the way to his collarbone. The multitude of bruises and cuts marring the rest of his torso and his arms make Changbin's gut churn.

“I've had worse,” Jisung insists as firmly as his scratchy voice allows him to. He frowns when he notices that his words do nothing to make the panic on Changbin's face subside. “Hey,” Jisung tries again, this time reaching out to place a hand beneath Changbin's chin and making him raise his gaze, away from the terrible wounds. “Look at me. And don't look away until you get yourself together.”

Changbin's breathing gradually evens out after he takes a good look at Jisung's expression. Jisung’s eyes look clear and focused despite the excruciating pain he must be experiencing at the moment. This way Changbin realises Jisung is trying his hardest to make him break out of his fit of trepidation. The conclusion makes him feel like such a fool, being the one on the receiving end of help in this situation.

That makes Changbin sober up and start facing the issue rationally. He takes another look at Jisung’s abdomen to assess the damage. A human would’ve died already from injuries such as these, but aside from being blessed with extraordinary regeneration abilities, Jisung is a stubborn bastard who would keep on living out of sheer spite. That makes Changbin disregard the minor wounds as reasons for serious concern.

What makes his mind reel is the deepest laceration. Ghoul skin is impenetrable for normal surgical tools, and he doesn’t keep any quinque steel at home; stitching it is out of the question on short notice. The bleeding wouldn’t stop from external pressure alone, either. 

A stray trickle of blood along the edge of Jisung’s lips catches Changbin’s attention; he gulps when the epiphany hits him.

A surge of determination pushes Changbin to stand up and move onto the couch so he can straddle Jisung, careful not to irritate any bruises in the meanwhile. The confusion on Jisung's expression sharply morphs into shock once Changbin takes his own shirt off as well, tilting his head to the side to expose more of his shoulder. 

“You can’t be serious right now,” Jisung utters in disbelief.

“Both of us know that wound will take ages to heal if you don’t eat,” Changbin firmly states. “You’re too weak to go hunting in this condition, and you’ll probably bleed to death by the time I can find you a corpse.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of that damn hero complex of yours?” Jisung remarks, still enough strength left in him to argue despite his head leaning to the side from the weight of fatigue.

“I’m not a fucking hero if I’m doing this for my damn self! Why can’t you understand just how much I need you?” Changbin snaps, nearly shouting from the overwhelming strain each passing second places on his nerves. The outburst affects Jisung like a slap to the face, his eyes widening and breath going quiet. Lightly placing a hand on Jisung’s cheek, Changbin’s voice shakes inconsolably as he insists, “ _ Please _ .”

It’s as if that simple word alone shatters the last sliver of restraint Jisung holds onto. Only the vivid red that bursts in his pupils stands out in the dark room. Pure instinct and mind-numbing hunger make him clutch Changbin closer and sink his teeth into Changbin’s shoulder, still mindful of major arteries or vital muscles he needs to avoid. A yelp of pain spills past Changbin’s lips once he feels skin break and blood cascade down his arm. He closes his eyes and grabs onto Jisung’s hair to distract himself until it’s all over.

When Jisung’s done feeding, he can feel Changbin wobbling in his grasp from the sudden blood loss. He was careful not to take away too much, but human fragility is not something he could control. The dizziness almost makes Changbin fall back from the couch until Jisung's kagune firmly wraps itself around his torso and keeps him in place.

A wave of relief washes over Changbin once he looks down and notices that Jisung’s laceration has stopped bleeding and has even begun slightly closing from the edges. His breathing is steadier as well, no more strained panting. Changbin looks back into Jisung’s eyes, taking a moment to memorise the way the red pupils seem suspended amidst pools of pitch black. He swipes away the droplets of blood lingering on Jisung’s bottom lip with his thumb and appreciates the way Jisung simply accepts the touch.

Jisung remains silent for a few moments longer, collecting his thoughts. 

“I…” he picks up, then briefly hesitates again. “I just don’t understand you sometimes,” he finally says. “Do you realise the position you’re in? Do you really treasure your life so little?” The words take the shape of blunt sneers. Changbin feels the kagune enveloping him slightly tightening its hold on him, the end of the scorpion tail slithering up to his neck. “You can’t even understand how frail you are. You let me eat from you when I can kill you on the spot with no more than a single move.”

Changbin doesn’t even flinch. “You can, but you won’t,” he replies without hesitation. Jisung can feel the blood coursing beneath Changbin’s skin, can sense the way his pulse remains admirably calm as he speaks. “If you wanted me dead, would you truly return to me every night?”

It’s only when Changbin cups his cheeks that Jisung realises he’s crying. Crystal clear tears fall from eyes as black as the night outside. He buries his face in the crook of Changbin’s neck and sets all the sobs free. “You idiot. You bloody fucking fool,” he manages to say between whimpers, not a single speck of malice to be found.

Changbin cradles the ghoul close, softly stroking his hair until he calms down. “Never scare me like this again,” he whispers into the crown of Jisung’s head and seals the request with a faint kiss to the dark locks of hair.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


The bed has plenty of room for Jisung and Changbin to lie down facing one another, gently holding hands in their sleep night after night.

Jisung doesn’t get any more nightmares.

  
  


♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

  
  


Through the peephole Changbin sees whom he surmises to be a new drug runner for one of the smaller cartels operating along the periphery of the city. A scruffy-looking young guy impatiently taps his foot on the dusty cement outside and clutches his side with a grimace. An infected stab wound is the immediate assumption.

When the door gets unlocked, the guy flinches at the annoying screeches coming from the hinges, but Changbin merely ushers him inside with nonchalance honed by routine. It takes the courier no more than a single glance inside the room for him to stop in his tracks. “I thought you’d work alone,” he gripes without even trying to conceal the suspicion pouring out of his tone.

Jisung’s standing by the gurney, wiping a surgical knife clean the way Changbin taught him how to do. He simply mocks the open distrust aimed at him with a cheeky smile.

“This job’s harder than it looks, you know?” Changbin replies with an eye roll. “He won’t spill a word if that’s what you’re worried about. Sit.”

The drug runner slowly approaches the gurney, still glaring at Jisung with spite during each step. The way a sliver of fluorescent light glimmers on the edge of the blade in Jisung’s hands only causes the tension in the room to thicken like smog.

The sharp clang of the door's latch being pulled shut makes the courier turn around startled. He's too fixated on the way Changbin locks the place up again to address the pang of pain in the wound on his side. With the pressing question of what the hell is going on at the tip of his tongue, he quickly reaches for the handgun strapped to his waist.

He only manages to wrap his fingers around the weapon’s grip before he feels a hand rest on his shoulder. In a frenzy he twists his neck to see Jisung suddenly standing right next to him, the shadows from this angle giving the condescending quirk of his lips a manic edge.

“I don’t like it when people look away from me.”

It’s the collarbone that makes a sickening cracking sound first when Jisung abruptly squeezes hard. The courier’s wails mask the way the rest of the bones in his shoulder shatter one by one beneath Jisung’s fingers. Legs shaking uncontrollably under the weight of the continuous pain, he tries to break free from Jisung’s grasp, but as soon as he leans away and bares his neck in the process, Jisung rushes forward to sink his teeth into the side of the man’s throat. All further attempts at screams get drowned in the blood flooding his windpipe and pouring out of his mouth.

The sparks of life slowly leave the guy’s eyes while he weakly sinks to the floor. The shallow, tortured breaths produced with his last bits of energy come to a sharp halt when Jisung’s fingers dig into the center of his chest and pull his ribcage apart at a torturously languid pace. Warm crimson streams cascade on all sides when Jisung grabs the still beating heart and tears it out of the body. He bites into it with the hunger of a feral beast and the muffled sound of muscle being ripped to shreds is all that fills the room.

Once Jisung is nearly done feeding, Changbin quietly approaches him and sits next to him on the floor, no remorse for the dead whose blood soaks into his clothes. When Jisung lifts his head from the mangled remnants of the heart in his hands to look at Changbin, dark red trickles dribble down the curves of his lips and drip off his chin.

“Are you happy like this?” Changbin asks in a soft tone.

Jisung doesn’t have to think twice before replying with a small firm nod and a sincere glint in his eye. That certainty is what finally tips Changbin over the edge, what makes him close his eyes and lean forward. When Jisung cups his cheek and kisses him back with gentleness so different from the way he had just ended a life, Changbin makes peace with the fact that he’s far beyond the point of no return.

Blood from Jisung’s mouth spills onto Changbin’s lips and crawls down his skin in large, messy droplets. The heavy taste of death that settles on Changbin’s tongue lingers for a long time after.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually a fluff writer so this was a relatively new experience for me! I wanted to practise characterisation with this so apologies if the characters' actions seem a bit off
> 
> constructive criticism is encouraged and appreciated~
> 
> feel free to find me on twitter [@shimramyun](https://twitter.com/shimramyun) and yell about stray kids and rare pairs with me!!


End file.
